


hope life treats you kind

by Anonymous



Series: The Ballad of Captain Kevin Cozner [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Closeted Character, Different Cheddar, Kevin is a cop, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Second part of my Kevin Cozner as an NYPD Captain AU.takes place during early season six.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: The Ballad of Captain Kevin Cozner [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612810
Comments: 30
Kudos: 110
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Captain Raymond Holt returned to his dark and empty apartment a changed man. He was invigorated with a new sense of purpose. He walked briskly to his bedroom to put the stack of novelty t-shirts he had purchased into the back of his closet. They would serve as a reminder of one of the darkest periods of his life, from which he had just resurfaced, unbroken and unbowed. His mind was made up. He would call the mayor in the morning.

As for now…

Raymond was going to sit down on his beige couch and relax by listening to some Frans Brüggen, but first he checked for any messages on his phone left in his week-long absence.

There were four. Dutifully, he pressed the button to play them.

The first message was from his mother. She expressed concern about being unable to reach him and regret regarding the decision for commissioner. Since Raymond had called her from Mexico to inform her that he had decided to take a vacation, there was no need to return her call immediately. He still made a mental note to let her know he was back in New York.

The second message was brief. The familiar background noise of the precinct could be heard, then Sergeant Jeffords bellowed “What is God? Why?!” and hung up. Raymond raised his eyebrows and pressed delete.

The third message started playing.

“Raymond,” an all too familiar voice rang out, cutting right into Raymond’s heart. His finger hovering over the delete button, he sighed and closed his eyes. “I heard about the commissioner-thing. It was in the paper. Anyway, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry you didn’t get it. I know how much it meant to you – certainly more than our marriage—”

“Thomas, Ricardo, _Jeffrey_ ,” Raymond spat, talking over the voice of his ex-husband, “just to name a few ʻthingsʼ that meant more to _you_ than our marriage.”

“—is water under the bridge now. Like the bridge off which you threw my duck, for example.”

Raymond rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Ray,” said Frederick before sighing and hanging up.

“Goodbye, Frederick, and thank you for reminding me to never contact you again.” He was going to press delete, but it took him a second to get his bearings – Frederick always managed to make his blood boil – and the last message started playing.

“Captain Holt,” Raymond blinked, stunned. This, he had not expected. “This is Captain Kevin Cozner. I’m sorry, I called your precinct and was informed that you had taken some personal time. Your assistant was kind enough to give me your home number. Again, I apologize if this is inappropriate. I merely wished to express my great disappointment in the department’s decision to promote John Kelly over you. I believe they have made a grave error and I hope that you are well.” Cozner paused to draw in a breath. When he continued, his voice was softer, more intimate. “It may not seem like it right now, but your work is appreciated, Captain. You are an inspiration. Thank you.”

The message ended with a click.

For a moment, Raymond simply stood, listening to the silence. 

His apartment felt warmer than before.

He was glad to be back.

***

Shoulders squared, Raymond strode into the crowded bullpen, unfazed. If this was all John Kelly had to offer in retaliation for his complaint to the mayor, Raymond truly had nothing to fear from the old man.

He made his way over to Gina’s desk and stopped for a quick update.

“Captain,” she greeted him, looking up from her phone, “you look refreshed! And thanks for using referral code GINA30!”

“No, thank _you_. Say, were there any important or unusual calls for me during my absence?”

“Um, no, just the yoush. Terry handled it.”

“Oh?” He took in Gina’s bored expression and decided to prod a little more. “I am asking because Captain Kevin Cozner unexpectedly called my home.”

“Huh?” Gina gave him a look of mild confusion and drawled, “Who dat?”

“Captain Kevin Cozner,” Raymond repeated, enunciating every syllable of rank and name clearly.

Gina hummed, rubbing her chin in thought. Finally, her face lit up. “Oh! The janitor who got fired for drinking all the hand sanitizer?”

“No, Gina,” Raymond almost sighed, wondering why he bothered, “the captain who ran against me for commissioner.”

“The lady who kept calling you grandpa?”

“No, Captain Kevin Cozner. You met him for lunch and convinced him to withdraw. He called the precinct while I was away and apparently you gave him my home number.”

“Ooooh,” She pulled a face. “Doggy Style.”

“Indeed,” he said, feeling a twinge in his stomach at the reminder. Yes, the ex-wives, the unspeakable nickname, the way Cozner had fled the garage that night. He would do well to remember.

“Yeah, he a real sad dude,” Gina said, her eyes returning to the screen of her phone. “Don’t call him back.”

“I was not—” There was no need to complete the lie, as Gina was no longer listening.

***

Sadly, it was true that Raymond occasionally fantasized about walking into Captain Kevin Cozner’s precinct. He would cut across the bullpen, past the captain’s personal assistant, ignoring her question if he had an appointment because he did _not_ – straight into his office.

There, he would look at Cozner, who would be staring up at him, blue eyes wide with surprise, and say,

_Hello, Captain Kevin Cozner._

And Cozner would reply, in that same breathy voice from the garage,

_Hello, Captain Raymond Holt._

End of fantasy.

If anything, it was proof that Raymond had better steer clear of Captain Cozner until this silly infatuation had fully dissipated.

***

Someone was banging on the door.

“Babe?” Amy groaned next to him, “What’s going on?”

Jake made an unintelligible noise that should have been, _I don’t know. Let me check,_ but came out more like _Idnknw, lmsh_. He rolled over and pried his eyes open. Just then, Amy switched on the light, making Jake hiss as his eyeballs burned out of his skull.

“Aaargh.”

“Sorry, babe!”

A vaguely Amy-shaped blob ducked out of the bedroom, gun already in hand. Jake was still struggling to get to his feet.

“NYPD,” a man’s voice came from the front door, “please, open up!”

By the time Jake had struggled into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Amy had cracked the door open just enough to inspect their badges. She nodded at Jake as she undid the security chain.

Two detectives stepped inside, badges hanging around their necks. Jake thought he recognized them from the 92nd.

He exchanged a look with Amy who, in her hastily thrown on robe, gun still clutched in one hand, looked about as baffled as he felt.

“Sergeant Santiago, Detective Peralta,” the younger of the two men said, his face an impassive mask, “we’re sorry to disturb you, but we need to get Detective Peralta out of this apartment. His life is in danger.”

“What?” Amy and Jake asked in unison.

***

“It’s three am, how are you wearing a suit?!” Jake exclaimed.

He had been herded out of the van and into a non-descript house somewhere on the edge of the city and there, in a living-room that looked like it had been ripped straight from the pages of an ikea catalogue, sat his captain, fully dressed. In a navy suit and tie.

Meanwhile, Jake was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his service weapon strapped awkwardly into a shoulder holster he’d had to borrow from Amy since he couldn’t find his. It was really tight.

Also, he was smelling of garbage because the detectives had decided to smuggle him out of the building in a large trashcan.

Holt looked at him, face as blank as ever, and wrinkled his nose. “I was watching a live stream of a concert of the Orchestre National de France, obviously I would never do so in my pajamas like some common cretin. What _is_ that smell?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Jake said sarcastically. He let himself drop onto the couch and didn’t take offense when Holt scooted away. “I’ll have you know that it’s trash. I was brought here in a trashcan.”

“Oh, well. That explains the gum in your hair.”

Panicked, Jake carded a hand through his short curls. It came away sticky. “Oh no, there’s gum in my hair again?”

Holt frowned at him, lips parting as if to say something, but just then the door opened and the two detectives from before entered the room, followed by none other than the Commissioner of the NYPD himself.

Jake heard Holt draw in a soft breath.

“Ooof, what is that smell in here?” Kelly asked and chuckled his jolly old man chuckle, “I’d suggest you crack a window, but I’m afraid that would be against security protocol.”

“Commissioner Kelly, what is going on?” snapped the captain.

“What’s going on is that your old friend Seamus Murphy has put a hit out on you two,” Kelly announced way too cheerfully.

Jake grit his teeth. He could feel Captain Holt tense beside him.

“You remember Seamus Murphy?” Kelly continued, his smile wide and definitely mocking, “I believe you let him get away, oh, what was it? About six months ago now?”

Jake shot Holt a guilty glance. This was still his tat to tit. He’d messed up the whole safe house thing – well, the captain hadn’t exactly been at his best and quite frankly, Laverne had been super unwilling to go along with pretty much anything her son told her to do… but still. Well, at least no harm had come to Holt’s mom and Jake had gotten to hear a few good childhood stories about the captain, not to mention pretty much become besties with his mom, so worth it?

Holt’s expression told him that, no, it had not been worth it.

Seamus Murphy had slipped through their fingers and fled the country.

“Interpol is still looking for Murphy, but until they have arrested him, you are to stay here in this safe house with an NYPD security detail to protect you. Given Murphy’s history with the witness protection program, we have decided to handle this situation ourselves. I have personally picked the team I consider most suited for this task.” Jake had not thought it possible and yet Kelly’s smile widened.

“Wait,” he interjected, “What about my wife? And Captain Holt’s mom, are they not in danger?”

“Sergeant Santiago and Mrs. Holt will stay with a detective from your squad for the duration. According to our sources, this time, Murphy is coming for you two personally, but just to be safe, they will be living with Detective Diaz until this is over.”

“I see,” Holt said.

“So, Detective Boyle and Sergeant Jeffords will be taking turns watching us?” Jake asked hopefully.

“No,” John Kelly said.

“Scully and Hitchcock?” he asked less hopefully.

“No,” John Kelly said.

“These two guys?” Jake jerked his head at the two mute detectives standing behind the commissioner.

“No,” said John Kelly.

“Just tell us already, so we can resign ourselves to our fate, Commissioner Kelly,” Captain Holt cut in, “I am sure you have scoured the NYPD for the worst it has to offer. But I do not care whether you lock me in here with one of your mindless lackeys or even Madeline Wuntch, the devil herself, for this too shall pass,” he snarled. “If you ever get on with it, that is.”

“Oh, you’re such a drama queen, Raymond, such fun.” John Kelly chuckled again, like the evil grandpa that he was. “Don’t worry, Captain Keith Pembroke and Captain Kevin Cozner will get here shortly. You’ll be in very good hands.”

Jake’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t have heard what he had just heard, right? Right?

He glanced over at the captain, who for once in his life, looked absolutely shell-shocked. So he had heard right.

“Wait… The Vulture?!” Jake jumped up in protest. “We’ll be locked in here with _The Vulture_ , for _weeks_?! No! You can’t do that! That’s inhuman! He’s the _worst_!” He turned to Holt, who was still staring at the Commissioner. “Sir, say something!”

“I… have nothing to say,” Holt said.

Jake collapsed back onto the couch, covered his face with his hands and groaned.

His palms smelled like hubba bubba, which was weirdly comforting but not enough to get him through this.

“I hope neither of you is allergic to dogs,” Kelly said.

***

“So, who is the other guy? Captain Kevin Costner?” Jake asked once Kelly had left. One of the two detectives was leaning against the wall, watching him sleepily, the other one had gone to the kitchen to make coffee. Jake stretched out on the couch, getting his trash stank all over it and not caring one bit. Holt had moved to an armchair in the corner. An idea struck and he sat up again. “Wait, is this a dream? Are we in the movie The Bodyguard?”

Holt shook his head tiredly. “His name is Kevin _Cozner,_ C-O-Z-N-E-R,” he spelled.

“Kevin _Cozner_?” Jake mused, wondering if he’d ever met the man. “What does that make us? Whizney Houzton? Sir, are we Whizney?”

“Peralta…” the captain began, voice weary, only to be interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Jake swallowed.

They were here.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Kevin Cozner’s phone rang at half past two a.m., startling him out of his light, dreamless sleep. He rolled over in bed, onto the cool left side, unoccupied for years, grabbed the offending device, glanced at the glowing display to see the caller ID NYPD, groaned and swiped to pick up.

***

Twenty minutes later, he was in the passenger seat of an unmarked car, a fuming Captain Pembroke next to him, driving them out to the safe house.

Closing his eyes, Kevin sank into his seat and recalled the quick briefing he’d been given at his precinct.

_Interpol has found messages on the dark web suggesting Seamus Murphy has put a hit out on Detective Jacob Peralta and Captain Raymond Holt. They’re trying to trace them in order to track down Murphy, but in the meantime, we need to protect the lives of these two individuals. They are being taken to a safe house as we speak._

“Fuck!”

Kevin’s eyes snapped open when Pembroke slammed the heel of his hand into the steering wheel in frustration. From the backseat came a low growl; Cheddar disapproved of cursing and violent outbursts.

They had stopped at a red light, the color bleeding into the dark car, lending Pembroke’s pale face a fittingly demonic hue.

“This assignment is bullshit! I’m not gonna spend weeks babysitting Peralta’s pasty white ass,” he ranted. “What the hell is the commissioner thinking? Why the fuck would you waste my talents like that?”

Kevin inclined his head in contemplation. Truth be told, he had been asking himself similar questions – not, of course, regarding Pembroke’s talents, which, in his humble opinion, were actually quite limited.

“Hm. This was hardly an arbitrary choice. One is left to wonder about the commissioner’s true motivations,” he said, glancing at his… for lack of a better word ʻpartnerʼ. Pembroke was radiating fury – it was, Kevin had learned over the regrettable period of his life in which he’d had to work with him daily, one of his three major emotions: wrath, vainglory, concupiscence. Among these, the second was usually the least disruptive to the fulfillment of whatever task was in front of them. Today, however, he was not in the mood to flatter the captain. “But whatever they might be, we have a job to do,” he said firmly.

Pembroke sucked his teeth. The light changed and he stepped on the accelerator hard enough to make the tires squeal. Used to this kind of behavior, Kevin had preemptively grabbed hold of the car door. In the backseat, Cheddar let out a startled yelp. It made Kevin’s fist itch with the desire to punch his inconsiderate driver.

“Everybody knows John Kelly wants to fuck Ray Holt any way he can. All I’m asking is, why do we have to be the dildos up Holt’s ass?”

Kevin closed his eyes briefly, trying very hard not to think of Raymond Holt’s nether regions. “Colorful…” he said through grit teeth. “Why indeed…”

Unspeakably crude language aside, Pembroke had a point. Ever since Captain Raymond Holt’s complaint to the mayor, the commissioner had been doing his darndest to punish the entire 99th precinct. Unsurprisingly, since Holt’s actions had been an open declaration of war.

Kevin had already held Holt in high esteem. He admired the man and this new development only fueled his… well, fire.

However, he had been disappointed when Holt never returned his phone call. The feeling of rejection had hung over him like a dark cloud for weeks. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that it still had not completely dissipated. In addition to that, he felt shame, pure and simple. He had crossed a line, calling the man at his private residence. What had he been thinking?

That they could become… friends?

Kevin tensed, his hands balling into fists.

Immediately, his mind brought him back to that night in the parking garage. Such a banal place, dark and dirty, and yet Raymond Holt had been so radiant and charming. Such elegance and wit. The subtle strength behind his handshake. How Kevin had been pierced by emotion, how it had drawn words from his lips like blood from his heart.

Kevin shivered, banishing the memory of that night to the deep dark corners of his mind.

Commissioner Kelly, whose single-minded determination was to torture Raymond Holt, had selected them for this task. Consequently, he thought Kevin and Pembroke might serve this purpose. Why? Well, in Pembroke’s case the answer was obvious, he was a deeply obnoxious person.

Kevin on the other hand… had a history with Raymond Holt, and yet Kelly did not know the exact nature of said history.

Yes, John Kelly had spoken to Kevin, once, briefly, soon after he had been made commissioner. Kelly had, in his usual falsely jovial manner, asked about the reasons behind Kevin’s withdrawal from the race – _I considered you my biggest competition, Kevin! I mean, honestly, we all knew Holt was too much of a radical to have a real chance._

Kevin had swallowed his irritation at the new commissioner’s breezy dismissal of Captain Holt and uttered his excuse.

Which had been that he did not feel ready for the position, not a lie, and that he would prefer more work in the field, a lie.

Kelly had studied his face, clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m sure we can arrange that. Oh, by the way, a little birdie told me they saw you with Raymond’s assistant at a diner just a day before your announcement. What was that all about?”

And Kevin had smirked, a sly quirk of his lips, shrugged and replied, “Miss Linetti is very pretty. She’s wasted on someone like Ray Holt, don’t you think?”

Pembroke punched his arm. “Wake up, Doggy Style, we’re here.”

Perhaps, Kevin thought grimly as he got out of the car, Kelly hoped they were just incompetent enough to get Raymond Holt killed. But that would not happen because Kevin would sooner die than give him the satisfaction. No harm would come to Captain Raymond Holt, not on his watch.

“Captain Pembroke,” he said once he had released Cheddar from his dog seatbelt and they were walking up the front steps to the house, “I think it would be best if I stayed in the safe house with Holt and Peralta for the duration of the assignment. It would indeed be a waste to keep a gifted investigator like you locked up in there for any amount of time. I wouldn’t want to ask more of you than to perform scheduled security check-ins and supply runs.”

“Seriously?” Pembroke asked, his tone that of a child being offered the keys to the candy store. “You’ll stay in this dump with those two dodos for who knows how long, no take-backs?”

Kevin nodded. “As I said, I think it would be best. Yes.”

“Man,” Pembroke said, slapping Kevin’s shoulder hard enough to elicit a growl from Cheddar, whose fur bristled under Kevin’s instinctively extended hand, “I don’t care what anyone says, Doggy Style, you’re a standup guy.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was only one way to walk into a room: like you owned it, and so that was what Captain Keith Pembroke did every time. This was no exception. He pushed his way through the door hard, Cozner and the dog behind him somewhere, and strode into the middle of the room, which smelled like a dump.

First, he glanced at Peralta, who was sitting on the couch all hunched over, wearing the crappiest outfit ever and shooting him dirty looks like the jealous loser that he was, then at the captain, who was rising from his armchair, looking pretty slick in his suit and tie.

“Okay, Captain Holt, Peralta, you all caught up? Then it’s time to get this show on the road,” Keith announced. He had no intention to stay in this dump longer than he absolutely had to and he was going to make that clear. “You two can head out,” he said, nodding at the two detectives on duty. Hicks, a good dude who’d been at his awesome mud-wrestling night, nodded back, the other one, Rosenberg or something, only said “Captains”, before they cleared out.

Doggy Style was hanging back by the door, being his usual socially awkward nerd-self.

Meanwhile, Holt had come up to him and was offering his hand. Keith grabbed it – reluctantly, he hated touching other dudes’ hands – and squeezed hard to establish dominance.

“Captain Pembroke,” the old man said. Keith kind of respected him – more than Peralta anyway – sure, he was a queer, but he wasn’t one of those obnoxious girly types who rubbed it in your face all day. To him, Holt looked like he was a pitcher, not a catcher, and in Keith’s book it took some balls to fuck other men up their asses.

While Holt greeted Cozner, Keith turned his attention to the sulking idiot, Jake Peralta.

“So, Pasty Ass, looks like we have to clean up your mess.”

Peralta gave him the stink eye, literally – the guy stank. No surprise there.

“Whatever,” he said, “we just have to be locked in here with you for who knows how long, so Murphy’s assassin doesn’t kill us. Easy.” He blinked, then sank back into the ugly-ass couch “Oh God, I thought if I said it out loud, it would make it less terrible somehow, but it did _not_ work.”

“Yeah, I’m not staying in here with you. I got better things to do. Cozner is gonna do that part.”

Peralta perked up, eyes wide and hopeful; he looked like a puppy waiting to be kicked. “Seriously?”

“You won’t be taking turns? For the entire duration of the assignment? That seems… imprudent.”

Keith glanced over to Holt, who was standing a few steps from Cozner, the two of them not really looking at each other. Huh.

Doggy’s ever blank face somehow got even blanker. “We decided on this course of action on the way over here. I think it’s what’s best for the operation. Do you object, Captain, Detective?”

“No, we do not object!” Peralta said.

“Actually—” Holt frowned but was interrupted by Peralta.

“We couldn’t be happier, right? Captain Holt?” he whined.

The old man gave his stupid subordinate a look, then turned to Kev. “I suppose this is your operation and you can run it whichever way you see fit,” he said, just a hint of bitchiness in his voice. Guess some of the gay had to come out sometime.

“That’s his way of saying that he’s super stoked; we are super stoked!” Peralta chimed in.

Keith shrugged, ready to move on from this nonsense. He walked to the door, slapped a hand on Kev’s shoulder – guy was stiff as a board as always, “Okay, so I’m leaving this to you, Dogs” He leaned down and gave Cheddar’s head a good, strong rub, just the way he liked it, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Later, loser,” he said to Peralta, raising his hand in a half-assed wave, “Captain Holt.”

Outside, he drew in the cool night air, enjoying its lack of Peralta stink and glanced at his wristwatch. Half past three. _Drunk chick pick up prime time_ , he thought, satisfied with himself and how he’d handled the situation, _might as well go hit the clubs._

***

Captain Kevin Cozner was not what Jake had expected. He was a tall, slender, middle aged, balding guy, dressed in tan corduroy slacks, a grey herringbone sport coat, white shirt and striped beige tie. He even had a pocket square! Jake scrunched up his face, staring at it. Captain Holt, he noticed, had one, too. Meaning that now that the Vulture had – thankfully – left, Jake was the only person in the safe house without a pocket square.

Should he be embarrassed or was that nuts? There was a candy wrapper hanging out of one pocket of his sweatpants, did that count?

Even the dog was wearing a wide, expensive looking leather collar. Jake was being outdressed by the dog!

He allowed his sleep-deprived brain to latch onto these thoughts and pushed away those of Amy, how much he missed her already, whether she really was safe, how long they would be separated this time. They’d only just gotten married! Between Florida and prison and the safe house with Laverne, he’d spent far too many months missing her already!

But then he couldn’t ever really say that out loud, not when Captain Holt had come back from Florida only to find that his husband had left him for good.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Startled out of his thoughts, Jake looked up at Captain Cozner, who was standing in front of him, offering his hand.

“Oh, yeah, no, right.” Jake made a move to get up – he did have some manners, somewhere – and grabbed Cozner’s hand. Holt was watching them, face as impassive as ever.

“Captain Kevin Cozner. This is Cheddar.”

Cozner had a pleasant handshake, just the right amount of warmth and firmness. A little sticky, though.

“Hi, I’m Jake. Peralta.”

Jake gave his hand two enthusiastic pumps, then pulled back and watched in horror as three pink strands of gum stretched between their separating palms.

Cozner’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, he was staring down at his hand in disgust.

“What…?”

“Uh-oh, um, sorry, it’s chewing gum. It was in my hair; I don’t know how it got on my hand.” Not a great excuse, he could tell instantly from Cozner’s dismayed expression.

Sensing that a distraction was in order, Jake leaned down and reached for the happily panting German Shepherd. “Hey there, buddy! Who’s a good—”

“Do not touch the dog,” snapped Cozner.

“Peralta,” Holt sighed, all exasperation, “take a shower.” 

As he brushed past his captain, Jake paused and whispered, just loud enough for Holt to hear, “This is going to sound controversial, but I think he really likes me.”

***

While Peralta was in the shower, they relocated to the kitchen, mostly to escape Jacob’s lingering odor. Raymond sat in a chair at the table, unclear on how to label his emotions. Captain Kevin Cozner walked past him to the counter with the coffee machine. He stood by the window – the blinds were not fully drawn, but the light was on in the room, meaning his silhouette would be visible from outside. The dog, Cheddar, came trotting after him. Though Cozner had released him from his leash, he never seemed to leave his side.

“Perhaps you should not stand so close to the window,” Raymond said, thinking that they should not be standing at all. His mandatory army crawling protocol had served them well in the safe house six months ago, at least until his mother, in an act of childish defiance, had left the house to see her boyfriend. Thinking about the incident – which ultimately had led to Murphy’s escape – still infuriated Raymond.

“Thank you, Captain, but I know what I am doing.” There was no heat or sharpness in his voice, yet Raymond felt rebuffed, a prick to his ego, and he had to smother the impulse to retaliate with a cutting remark.

_Frederick leaned against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands, eyes cast down to stare into the dark brew._

Cozner stood, one hand on the counter, looking through his reflection in the glass and closed the blinds. 

_“I’ve had a long day, Ray,” Frederick said, “and I’m goddamn tired, so, for once, spare me the lecture.”_

“I gather you have a complicated history with Seamus Murphy,” Cozner said. “Would you care to tell me about it?”

_“You said he threatened your family; we’re not family, Ray, not anymore. I appreciate the call, but it was unnecessary.”_

“You were briefed before you arrived here. I’m sure the department has given you all the relevant information for this assignment.” Raymond registered the small flicker of irritation crossing Cozner’s face. With a sigh, the dog stretched out on the linoleum, putting his head on his front paws. “You know more than I do about the current situation. What exactly is the plan?”

“To stay here for the time being. Interpol is searching for Murphy, while the FBI is trying to find the hitman.”

Raymond frowned. “Is this threat real? Have you seen this message on the dark web?”

“Interpol and the FBI consider it very real. But no, I have not seen it. Still, I would not be willing to bet your life it isn’t, Captain Holt.”

“Hm.”

Cozner turned to face him, his eyes meeting Raymond’s. The room was filled with the tension of all that was left unspoken between them. The parking garage, the phone call. The photographs.

“Civilian clothes suit you, Captain,” Cozner said suddenly, as if to himself. For a second, Raymond thought he had misheard. Then, however, Cozner averted his eyes, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “I apologize, it was inappropriate to comment on your appearance. We are here in a professional capacity, after all.”

He looked adorable, flustered.

_Impeccably dressed, strikingly handsome, adorable_ , Raymond banished the cruel parade of deeply unprofessional descriptions from his mind.

And yet, there was something he needed to address. 

“Yes, we are here in a professional capacity and in that vein, I wanted to say that I appreciated your phone call. As you might have guessed, the department’s decision was a blow that left me reeling for quite some time. It propelled me into the very depths of despair. By the time I had recovered enough to return from my vacation, I had made up my mind to keep fighting, but hearing your message strengthened my resolve. I would like to thank you for that.”

Cozner looked baffled. He was holding on to the back of the empty chair opposite Raymond as if for support, eyes wide. “I—well—” he stammered, then cleared his throat. His lips parted; he was about to say something, when Peralta walked into the room.

Hair damp, a towel slung around his neck and completely unaware of the moment he was ruining. “Yo, what did I miss?”

In the blink of an eye, Cozner’s composure was restored. “Nothing. I was about to suggest you gentlemen get some rest. It is rather…” He glanced at his elegant wristwatch and raised an eyebrow. “Early.”

Jake shrugged. “Okay, I call the couch.”

“Actually, there is a basement. Since we will open the blinds in the morning, I decided that it would be best if you remained down there for the majority of your time here. It is simply safer for you to stay completely out of sight. There should be mattresses and other necessities I asked the department to provide.”

“Basement? Great! So, we’re literally going underground! That’s fun! And not at all depressing and death-y!”

“Death _-y_?” Cozner repeated faintly, frowning in consternation.

Raymond took pity on him and rose from his chair, causing Cheddar to lift his head off his paws and give him and expectant look.

“Let us relocate to the basement then,” he said. “Captain, lead the way, please.”

“To the basement!” cried Peralta, no doubt in some reference to – Raymond rolled his eyes – popular culture.

***

The basement was small and cramped, but Raymond was pleased to note that it had no windows. No possible entry points except for the one door that lead upstairs. A good ventilation system seemed to be in place, which at least ensured that the air was not too stuffy. How it would hold up after they had spent more than a few minutes hiding in there was anyone’s guess though.

There were three mattresses lined up along the wall, only about an inch between them. The forced proximity was not unexpected but decidedly unwelcome. Clearly, there was no privacy to be had in this room.

Raymond turned his attention to the fold-out table and three chairs in the corner and suppressed a sigh. It was a dismal display, not much improved by the shelf stuffed with books and boardgames next to it.

“Ugh,” Jake said, “okay, as someone who has been to actual prison, can I just say that this is bumming me out? At least in prison they give you cool bunk beds.”

Cozner ignored Peralta. “Since I am here to ensure your safety, I will sleep closest to the door,” he said, indicating the nearest mattress. Raymond nodded. This left him only one choice if he did not want to fall asleep and wake up directly next to the captain for the duration of this assignment. Which he decidedly did _not_ want.

“In that case,” he announced, “I will take the mattress furthest from the door.”

“Wait, does that mean I have to be in the middle? That’s not fair! We should toss a coin or draw straws or something!”

“We both outrank you, Detective,” Captain Cozner said evenly.

Jake folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head. “And here I thought this was a democracy. Looks like George Washington cut down that tree for nothing!”

“What? That is not—"

When Raymond caught Cozner’s eye, somehow the other man instantly understood his meaningful gaze – _don’t even try, just move on_ – and interrupted himself with a sigh of resignation. 

Meanwhile, Peralta had sulkily stepped over the first mattress and sat down on the second one, bouncing a little like the child that he was. Interested in his antics, Cheddar trotted over to him to take a sniff. “You know what?” Peralta said sarcastically as he petted the German Shepherd. “This is great. I can’t wait to be the filling in this man-sandwich.”

One second Raymond was rolling his eyes at the puerile comment, the next the atmosphere in the room changed completely as he felt Cozner stiffen and draw in a sharp breath.

“ _What?_ _What_ did you just say, Detective?” snapped the younger captain, voice toneless with outrage. “Are you suggesting there is sexual intent behind this arrangement?”

Raymond could not have been more surprised if an assassin had burst into the room then and there. Cozner’s face had gone white with fury, his body radiating tension as he stalked over his mattress.

“N-No! What? I—” Jake’s mouth hung open; his hand had stilled on the dog’s head. Cheddar, as confused and alarmed by the sudden mood-change as they all were, also stiffened, his ears flattening.

“Man-sandwich?” Cozner asked, over-enunciating every syllable until the words dripped disgust, “Is this a comment on your superior officer’s sexuality?”

Raymond felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Like a cornered criminal, Jake held up both hands. “Joking! I made a jo—”

Cozner was looming over him now, staring down at Jake with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to say that you are uncomfortable sleeping next to an openly gay man?”

“I’m not—!” Jake stammered. “I love Captain Holt!” He scrunched up his face, visibly replaying his own words in his head and added, hastily, “As a friend!” 

“How _dare_ you speak to your superior officer in this manner, Detective Peralta?”

Cheddar growled.

Eyes pleading, Jake looked over at Raymond and squeaked, “Captain Holt?”

“Enough.” Shaking off his shock, Raymond approached Cozner. His pulse had quickened, seeing the other man show such determination to defend him, but he willed his body to order. “Captain Cozner, I appreciate your concern,” he said, “but I can assure you Peralta did not mean to cause offense. He chose his words unwisely and he clearly regrets them – as well he should. However, he did not attack me. This is a misunderstanding.”

Cozner blinked, all emotion slipping off his face. The walls were pulled up so quickly and efficiently, Raymond would have admired his self-control, but he found himself secretly disappointed to be locked out. Captain Kevin Cozner was rather formidable when he let loose.

A startling thought, Raymond did not usually care for people _letting loose_. It was unseemly and unprofessional.

“I… see,” Cozner said, “I’m sorry. Please excuse me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left. The door clicked shut behind him.

Cheddar, having been abandoned all of a sudden, ran up to it and let out a low whine. 

“Oh, this is gonna be _so_ much fun,” Jake said unhappily, just as the door was opened only wide enough to let the dog slip out before closing again. “And he heard that. Yep.”

Raymond sighed. Jake was sitting on his mattress in their cramped basement hideout, an expression of utter misery on his face. “Peralta, we have been working together for six years now. We have a history. I know you and I trust you. He only just met you.”

As expected, Jake’s face lit up.

“Yeah, but when _you_ first met me, you instantly knew that I was your best detective and that we would be lifelong friends.”

“No,” Raymond said slowly, “I thought you were a buffoon.”

Smile dimming, Jacob nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “that tracks.”

“Perhaps we should get some rest,” Raymond said, sitting down on the mattress next to Jake’s. He _was_ tired, exhausted, really, and there would be time to speak to Cozner later.

“Are you saying Kevin can wait?” Peralta asked as he stretched out and pulled the blanket up to his chin, the sly smile on his lips proving that, once again, he had learned nothing.

“Peralta, you are not on a first name basis with Captain Cozner. Do _not_ call him Kevin.”

“No, it’s a tv show—you know what? Amy would have loved that joke. I’m sorry I wasted it on you.”

Shaking his head, Raymond got to his feet and made his way past Jake to flip the light switch. In the dark, he returned to his makeshift bed, stripped off his jacket, tie and shirt and lay down.

There _would_ be time to speak to Cozner later and he did not quite know how he felt about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the least popular fic I've ever written, but I still love it somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning was cool and still when Captain Kevin Cozner stepped out of the safe house and into the bracing night air. It would be a couple more hours until sunrise, which suited him just fine. He walked briskly, Cheddar by his side, routinely scanning his surroundings. New York never slept, but out here, it at least seemed to be dozing. The street was empty, the houses dark, Kevin was alone with his dog and his thoughts.

He had acted like a raging lunatic in front of Captain Raymond Holt. But had he been in the wrong? Ever since the first moment Kevin had stepped foot inside the safe house, Detective Peralta had been nothing but disrespectful. Peralta had behaved terribly, and yet Holt tolerated this behavior No, he had not simply tolerated it, he seemed almost fond of it.

Kevin did not understand this. If one of his detectives spoke to him the way Peralta did to Holt, Kevin would fire them immediately.

 _I love Captain Holt,_ Peralta had blurted out in his pathetic, floundering attempt to defend himself, startling Kevin with the sincerity behind the words.

Not one of the people employed at his precinct would express this kind of attachment to him, he knew that. Kevin had friends, he had people who loved him, but not within the NYPD. He had always kept his personal life separate from his professional life. No one in the NYPD knew his true colors. If they did, they would ostracize him, he was sure of that.

***

The house was dark and quiet when he returned from his short walk around the block. He’d let Cheddar take care of his business and kept an eye out for anything suspicious, committing the cars parked near the safe house to memory, making note of potential observation posts.

Kevin unlocked the front door and slipped inside, one hand feeling around for the light switch in the dark. Cheddar’s tail wagged against his leg just as he found the switch and heard the sound of footsteps on stairs.

Kevin braced himself for confrontation, then changed his mind and withdrew into the kitchen, where he started fiddling around with the coffeemaker. He had no desire to revisit his earlier outburst and hoped the other person was merely on their way to the bathroom.

Of course, he had no such luck, as in the space of two nervous heartbeats Captain Raymond Holt appeared in the doorway. He looked a little worse for wear, his clothes rumpled and in disarray, tie gone, but still undeniably handsome.

Kevin drew in a soft breath and pretended to be absorbed in whatever he was doing with the coffeemaker – perhaps he should actually make coffee?

He was still debating this when the captain cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Kevin looked up.

“Captain Holt,” he said, feigning surprise, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I was already awake. Peralta talks in his sleep. It is quite… distracting.”

Kevin abandoned the coffeemaker. He turned around. “Oh. I guess, I will have ample time to experience this phenomenon firsthand in the near future. Somehow I do not find myself looking forward to it.”

Slowly, Holt stepped into the room. “He is a good man. A splendid detective – though I’d rather you didn’t tell him I said that.”

Kevin quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “What you are saying is that I owe him an apology.”

“He _was_ out of line, but he did not mean any disrespect.” Holt paused, letting the words sink in. Kevin did not know many men who carried themselves with such gravitas. It sent shivers down his spine. “Whether you want to apologize or not, however, is your decision.”

And yet, his tone spoke clearly to his preferred outcome. Kevin had a bitter taste in his mouth; he knew he was becoming more and more defensive. “I found his remark insensitive and borderline homophobic,” he said, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat sped up. He was opening himself up to attack. _What gives you the right to lecture me about homophobia,_ Holt could ask – had every right to ask – and then what would Kevin say?

Holt, however, did not push him. He stopped a few steps from Kevin and said evenly, “Yes, you made that clear.” There was no judgement in his voice; he was stating a fact with perfect neutrality. Flustered, Kevin looked down at Cheddar, who had stretched out on the floor, completely relaxed. “Captain,” Holt continued, “I have met my share of homophobes in the course of my career and I can tell you that Detective Peralta couldn’t be farther from them. Over the years, he has shown me tremendous support, and were it not for him I might not be standing here right now.”

 _He means a lot to me,_ that was what Captain Raymond Holt was saying in so many words. Perhaps even, _I love him as well_? Kevin felt a startling prick of jealousy. It made him take a step back, his hip bumping awkwardly into the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing his inappropriate emotions. “For making a scene. It was not my place. After all, I don’t really know you.”

There, he had done it again. He had felt defensive and vulnerable and so he had made a quick comment dismissing their relationship.

Holt’s face was difficult to read, but Kevin noticed a subtle shift in his features. It was there and gone in a split second.

“Captain, you and I both know that I have seen far worse ʻscenesʼ in my life, and while you are correct, we do not know each other very well – yet – you seem to be a good man. I respect you.”

His heart had no right to skip the way it did, Kevin thought. He was breathless and overwhelmed. Captain Holt was holding his gaze, his dark eyes burning with sincerity. They made Kevin’s knees feel weak.

“Thank you, Captain, I respect you as well,” he said faintly and when Holt smiled at him, it gave him such a rush of warmth, coursing from the center of his chest down to his toes, that Kevin had to grab the edge of the counter to keep his knees from buckling.

***

Jake woke up on what he subsequently labeled Day One to find himself alone in the basement. The mattresses to either side of him looked decidedly un-slept on, pillows fluffed and blankets folded neatly. Meanwhile, Jake’s blanket was wound around his legs and his pillow had a large drool stain. He rolled onto his back, giving himself a couple of minutes to just miss Amy.

God, he missed Amy.

***

He found Holt and Cozner upstairs, standing by the front door, their backs to him. When they heard him coming, they turned, and Cheddar came over to greet him by poking him with his wet dog snout.

“Ah, Detective,” Cozner said, “Good timing. We were just discussing security protocol.”

“Yes, I have proposed a passcode to be employed upon entering the house,” Holt said, “The doorbell shall be rung in the following manner: one short ring, two seconds pause, one long ring, one second pause, two short rings, three seconds pause, one long ring, two seconds pause, one short ring.”

Cozner nodded. “I approve of this proposal. What do you say, Detective?”

Jake debated simply turning on his heel and going back to his mattress. He had his service weapon with him, so he could always shoot himself.

“Sounds great,” he said instead.

***

Moments later, Jake was down in the basement again after he had been informed of their policy that Captain Cozner would be walking around in sight as the pretend resident of the safe house while Jake and Captain Holt were to stay out of sight at all times and were only allowed to come upstairs once it was dark outside and the blinds were closed.

Anyway, Jake was sitting on his mattress, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do with himself when suddenly, Captain Cozner appeared next to him.

“Detective Peralta, I owe you an apology for my behavior earlier. I am sorry for raising my voice. It was unprofessional and it will not happen again.”

Holt, Jake noticed, was watching them from where he was sitting on one of the folding chairs, leafing through a book.

Jake felt awkward. He’d been trying really hard to repress the memory of that incident and he’d thought that they maybe were in silent agreement to just pretend it never happened. But Cozner was trying to do the right thing here, so…

So, Jake kinda had to do the right thing, too. 

“No, look, I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was stupid.” Jake grimaced. “Also, you didn’t actually raise your voice.” It was the quiet sharpness that had gotten to him. Jake had imagined that this was what his dad – or _a_ dad – would have sounded like the night his mom had caught him trying to sneak out for that Magic the Gathering tournament. It was a really good disappointed dad-voice, which was why Jake had been so intimidated.

“Nevertheless, I conducted myself poorly,” Cozner said, oblivious to the weird mix of feelings festering inside Jake, “and I hope we can move on from this misunderstanding.”

“Consider me already moved,” Jake shot back, forcing a grin. He held out his hand and, after a second of staring at it in mild revulsion, Cozner grabbed it and shook it. He looked relieved when he let go. This time, there was no gum.

***

“So, do we have any idea where Murphy might be?” Jake asked a couple of minutes later, just to fill the silence with something productive.

“He is suspected to be in Europe. Interpol thought they had tracked him down in Ireland – he has connections there – but it seems he left the country some time ago. As of now, they don’t know where he is. His trail has gone cold.”

Jake processed this information. It was bad, super-useless. Plus, it might mean they’d be here a while. “And the hitman? I mean, do we even know there is one?”

“The FBI is certain that a hit has been put out on you, yes. Sadly, that is all the information I currently have.”

Yep, super-useless.

***

Once they were alone in the basement together – Cozner had gone up to make what he called late breakfast—

 _You mean like brunch_ , Jake had asked.

 _Breakfast-lunch? No, a late breakfast_ , Cozner had said firmly and Holt had nodded as though he had made an important point. It was weird.

Anyway, once Jake was alone with Holt, he asked the question he’d wanted to ask all morning. “Okay, Captain, how do we find that guy?”

Holt gave him one of his signature blank looks. “How do we find… Seamus Murphy?”

“I was thinking the hitman, but yeah, Murphy too.”

That got him raised eyebrows. “Do you honestly think you can run this investigation from the confines of this basement, Peralta?”

Jake perked up, allowing himself a moment of pure optimism. “Wait, are you suggesting we break out?”

“No. We should follow our orders, sit tight and wait until we get the all clear.”

With no small amount of disgust, Jake threw a pointed look at the book in Holt’s hands – _Salt: A World History_ – just why would you read that? Why?

“ _You_ don’t really want to do that! In Florida you got antsy, too. You told me the first time you felt alive again was when you did policework!” Holt sighed and turned a page, pretending to be engrossed in his horrible book. “I’m sorry, sir,” Jake said, because whenever he brought up Florida, he felt bad. The aftermath of their time in witness protection had been brutal for the captain, “but you and me both know you won’t be satisfied sitting around here waiting. You’re not a waiter! _Cozner’s_ a waiter! I mean, he even wore an apron when he served me my oatmeal this morning! Classic waiter move!” With a shudder Jake remembered the bowl of oatmeal Cozner had handed to him, declaring it breakfast. It’d had zero taste, which was probably some kind of accomplishment. At least, Holt had seemed to think so, he’d even asked for seconds.

“Peralta, don’t,” Holt said firmly. “We have orders and we will follow them.”

***

Day One ended with Jake curling up on his mattress and closing his eyes. He thought about Seamus Murphy, the green hills of Ireland, Holt arguing with the honorable judge Laverne Holt, Cozner’s stupid apron and Amy, Amy somewhere out in the city with Rosa and Holt’s mom, but without him.

***

“Get off me, Peralta! What are you doing?”

Captain Holt’s voice ripped Jake from his dreams of Amy. He groaned and tried to hold on to his wife, afraid that her warm, supple body would slip through his fingers. Except… Wait… Had Amy gained weight?

_“Peralta!”_

Jake was pushed away, practically flung away. He rolled onto his back and smacked his head against the wall.

“Ow!”

Someone had switched on the light, which was way too bright, making everything blurry and confusing. After a bit of blinking, the dark, angry blob next to Jake turned into Captain Holt, who looked super pissed. Slowly, Jake’s brain put the pieces together. It was not a pretty picture.

“You were groping me in your sleep,” Holt informed him, voice mostly blank, but Jake had known him long enough now to detect the weight of displeasure it carried.

“It’s not my fault! That’s Amy’s side! I was just drifting out of habit.” That last bit he mumbled, somewhat embarrassed despite himself. They were newlyweds, okay!

With an exasperated sigh, Cozner stepped away from the light switch and returned to his own mattress. Jake really didn’t care for the way the other captain looked at him. Though Cozner himself was a little worse for wear in his rumpled striped pajamas.

Holt was staring him down. “Your wife is not here. Please cease your ʻdriftingʼ.”

“Sorry, but I can’t make any promises,” Jake said, then when Holt’s stare intensified, added defensively, “I was sleeping!”

“In that case,” Holt said, swinging his legs off the mattress and sitting up, “you leave me no choice.”

Oh, oh no, he sounded so serious. Jake recoiled in horror. “Please don’t murder me, sir, I never meant to touch your bosom.” If anything, Holt’s expression darkened. “And I’m sorry I mentioned your bosom.”

“We have to switch,” Holt said as he got to his feet. “I will sleep in the middle from now on.”

“Wow, okay, that’s a great idea. Can’t wait for you to be the sausage between these hotdog buns!” Jake scrunched up his face and very deliberately did not turn to look at Cozner and Cheddar, who was sleeping at his feet. “Yep, no, I’m sorry, I hear it now. Sorry.”


	5. Chapter 5

During the second day of their confinement something akin to a routine was established. After the incident with Peralta, Raymond was awake and had no desire to try and go back to sleep. It was past 0600 anyway, and he had yet to give in and live the life of a sloth to which Jake seemed to have committed himself quite happily.

Raymond had decided to spend his time reading, accumulating knowledge. He’d thought he might try learning a new language or brush up on his French at least. He wanted to be productive. If such an endeavor ended up distracting him from the presence of one Captain Kevin Cozner, well, that was merely an irrelevant side-effect. There was no point to thinking about it further, hence he stopped.

Incidentally, however, he did glance over, past Peralta, at Cozner, who was on his back on his mattress, reading a book. Out of curiosity, he craned his neck to see the title. Then he sank back onto his pillow, his lips quirking into the briefest of smiles. _Humor_ , his mother would have said, appreciatively.

Cozner was reading _En attendant Godot,_ the original French text. Clearly as a commentary on their current situation.

“Vouz parlez français,” Raymond said with mild surprise.

“Oui, j'ai étudié le français pendant cinq ans à l’université,” replied Cozner, his pronunciation flawless.

“Please stop,” Jake groaned between them. “It’s bad enough that we have the light on in the middle of the night—”

“It is ten minutes past six a.m,” Raymond said at the same time that Cozner said, “Il est six heures dix.”

“You can both go to hell,” Peralta snarled, pulling his blanket over his head.

***

They read in the mornings, while Peralta slept. At around eight, Cozner would go up, take Cheddar for a quick walk around the block and make breakfast, which they would then consume down in the basement.

“How about a few games to get to know each other better?” Peralta would ask, “Truth or dare? Never have I ever?”

In the end, Raymond would play chess against Cozner while Jake played with Cheddar or watched an inane movie on the small tv Cozner had dragged downstairs for him after much begging.

Cozner was an excellent chess player; in fact, he and Raymond were almost evenly matched, which made for breathtakingly tense games that sent guilty shivers up Raymond’s spine.

His fingertips would be hovering over a pawn and his eyes would dart up from the cheap plastic piece – not worthy of their skill – to Cozner’s face, his carefully neutral expression, dignified and controlled. Raymond would hesitate, his mind playing out his possible next moves and their consequences branching out like capillaries from an artery. Incidentally, his heartbeat would quicken, he would find himself unable to hold Cozner’s gaze, he’d pick up the piece and there would be Peralta on all fours crawling under the table between them.

“What are you doing?” Raymond asked without looking up from the board.

“I’ve invented a new game for Cheddar. It’s called ʻfind my socksʼ.” He reached up from under the table, waving around a wad of balled-up socks. “Cheddar’s waiting outside while I hide them and when I let him back in, he has to find them. This might keep me from dying of boredom for, oh, at least the next three minutes. Maybe even five.”

Cozner wrinkled his nose. “Wonderful,” he said, “however, I doubt Cheddar will need more than two seconds to find them because even I could locate your socks by their odor.”

Instead of looking chastised, as Cozner had probably intended, Jake grinned. “Great,” he exclaimed, full of enthusiasm, “then you can play next round!”

***

Once it was dark outside, Raymond and Jake were able to go upstairs – they could use the bathroom during the day, of course, but they had to duck under the window in the foyer.

They were sitting at the kitchen table when Cozner picked up his apron and hesitated.

“If you would like to cook…” he offered.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook,” Raymond said.

“Right, that time Rosa came to your house, Frederick made dinner.” Jake made a face, the way he always did these days whenever this particular topic came up. “Sorry.”

Raymond inclined his head, indicating that no apology was necessary. Though he was briefly and somewhat painfully reminded of the early days of his separation from Frederick. At the time, the squad had tried their best to distract him, going so far as to make excuses to spend time with him and he had rebuffed them, accusing them of pitying him when secretly he had been grateful for their presence. 

“Reluctantly,” he said now as he watched Cozner tie his apron. “My ex-husband did not enjoy cooking very much. He is an OB-GYN and works irregular hours. We mostly went out for food or had something delivered.”

Jake shrugged. “Who needs to cook when you have take-out menus and booze?”

“Well, I actually do enjoy it. I find it quite relaxing,” Cozner said and rolled up the sleeves of his forest green shirt. Raymond instantly had to avert his eyes. Cozner’s bare forearms were perfect.

“Sooo,” Jake began, demonstrating his inability to tolerate even a brief moment of blissful silence, “you’re not married?”

“I am divorced.”

The curtness of the reply should have been a hint to Peralta that the topic was unwelcome. He did not take it.

“Do you still talk to her?”

Raymond would not have dreamed of posing such a crass question, but he could not deny that he was interested in the answer.

“I still talk to one of them occasionally, yes.”

“One of them?!” Peralta gasped, eyes going wide. He was eager to hear what Gina would gleefully call ʻhot gossʼ. “How many ex-wives do you have?”

“Three.”

“Three?!” he exclaimed. “Wow… So, third time wasn’t the charm, huh.”

“No,” Cozner said archly, “it was not.” He turned around and busied himself with the assortment of vegetables on the counter.

“But you still talk to one of them. Wait, that means you have a favorite wife—”

“ _Ex_ -wife, Detective. I assure you, I am not a polygamist.”

“I think I will help you with some of the chopping, Captain. After all, it is only _polite_.” Raymond put emphasis on the word ʻpoliteʼ and glanced meaningfully at Peralta, before getting up and grabbing a knife and a tomato.

“Thank you, Captain.” Cozner’s small smile had no right to be as intoxicating as it was, Raymond thought before ducking his head and focusing on the vegetable in front of him.

***

In the darkness of the basement that night, Raymond Holt lay awake, hands folded over his stomach, eyes open, staring at a ceiling he could not see. On one side of him was Peralta’s soft and regular breathing, on the other the gentle snoring of one German shepherd and the occasional rustle of blankets as Cozner shifted, either in his sleep or unable to find rest. Raymond could not tell.

Thinking too much about Cozner was dangerous. It brought to mind the way the other man looked each night, when he returned from the bathroom to their strange prison, dressed in his pajamas. It was such an intimate sight. This and the knowledge that Cozner was lying next to him this very moment, the distance between them no greater than that between Raymond and Frederick had been – smaller, infinitesimal compared to the distance between him and Frederick, at the end.

Though he missed Frederick still.

 _“I’m sick and tired of coming home to an empty house, Raymond. And let’s be honest, even when you’re here, it’s still_ fucking _empty.”_

Louder rustling and the sensation of something moving nearby pulled Raymond from the abyss of reminiscing about his former husband and the divorce.

“Cheddar,” he heard Cozner whisper, “settle down.”

A moment passed, then Raymond gave in to the temptation. “Captain?” he asked under his breath.

“Captain Holt,” Cozner replied, startled, “oh my goodness, I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

“No, I was not sleeping.”

“Oh. Perhaps we should try to get some rest. It would not do to wake Peralta. He might start singing that awful song again.”

“Yes, the theme song to the animated children’s series TaleSpin, which, or so I’m told, revolves around the adventures of a bear flying a plane.”

“ _Naturally_ ,” Cozner whispered.

They shared a satisfying moment of silent contempt for Jacob’s beloved television program. Then, disregarding the voice in his head cautioning him to stop before it was too late, Raymond found himself asking, “I presume you did not watch cartoons as a child?”

“No, my parents did not have a television in their house.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I read books instead. Frivolous, childish books, of course. The novels of Charles Dickens come to mind.” A self-deprecating chuckle that went right to Raymond’s heart. Yes, he too had read Dickens as a young boy. Ah, simpler times!

“I have a younger brother with whom I shared a room growing up,” Cozner continued, “he would pester me to read to him. Occasionally, I would even do different voices to entertain him.”

“Of course, this indulgence spoiled him rotten and he would demand it every single time he saw me with a book. We both loved the Iliad, so I, tired of my brother’s infantile tyranny, snuck a copy written in the original Greek out of my father’s library and painstakingly taught myself how to read it. My brother’s face when he realized he couldn’t understand a word I was reading to him was priceless.”

“Only years later did I realize that I could have made up some gibberish language and used that to discourage him or that I could have resorted to the tactics of most older brothers, namely boxed his ears or sat on him until he stopped.”

In the darkness of the basement, Raymond found himself smiling and quite unable to stop.

He cleared his throat.

“Oh, you are still awake, Captain,” Cozner whispered and Raymond was sure he could hear the smile in his voice, a levity that reverberated inside his own chest, “I was worried my lengthy tale had put you to sleep.”

“No, I found it extremely charming.” Embarrassing to be so forward. Raymond needed to rein himself in, but how was he to do that with Captain Cozner’s lovely voice this close to his ears? The distance between them would have been no greater if they had been lying side by side in Raymond’s bed.

Except that, were they in Raymond’s bed, there would be no distance between them at all, for Raymond would reach out and draw Kevin into his arms and—

Raymond cleared his throat a second time.

“Are you alright?” Cozner asked.

A fire was smoldering under his skin.

He needed to focus on something innocent.

“Yes, I am fine,” he said, hoping the low volume of his voice would disguise its breathlessness, “Your story reminded me of emotional moments with my own younger sibling, my sister Debbie. I used to build forts for her. They were structurally unsound, of course.” He chuckled. “Although, once I did manage to construct a satisfying miniature replica of Ōsaka castle out of couch cushions and blankets. I think my mother still has the blueprints somewhere.”

He knew it was wrong to do this.

And yet he was unable to stop.

As much as Raymond hated clichés, he knew he was the macrosoma heliconiaria to Cozner’s flame.

Thus began their late night talks.

***

With every passing day, Raymond found himself opening up more. He would sit at the dinner table at night, enjoying whichever wonderful meal Cozner had cooked and he would say things in front of Peralta he had no business saying.

“I did go on a few a dates with an actor from the Royal Shakespeare Company, but he turned out to be too… _dramatic_ for my tastes.”

Cozner laughed and Raymond felt himself puff up with pride.

“You are too much, Captain!”

Meanwhile, Peralta, who was sitting between them and, quite rudely, pouring tabasco sauce into his soup, made a face. “How come you laugh at his – no offense, Captain – super-lame joke but not one of mine? Which, BTW, were gold.”

“I’m sorry,” Cozner said, cocking his head in mock-confusion, “You made a joke? I have absolutely no recollection of such a thing ever occurring. When did you say this was?”

“Oh, haha, yeah, I get it, you don’t think I’m funny.” Jake angrily splashed more tabasco into his bowl. “That doesn’t hurt my feelings at all because I _never_ felt like I had to make my dad laugh in order to be worthy of his love and keep him from leaving.” He continued shaking the tabasco bottle while he ranted on. “And you are definitely not triggering any daddy issues just by being an older male authority figure, so, joke’s on you,” Jacob finished triumphantly, “because I’m well-adjusted.”

“Detective, you are mistaken,” Cozner said as they both watched Peralta blow on the spoonful of soup he was slowly raising to his mouth, “I do think you are funny, just not when _you_ think you are.”

Jake put the spoonful of soup into his mouth, then, very slowly, put the spoon down, his face for once completely blank. He swallowed painfully.

“Yep, this is edible,” he said tonelessly, “I just need to add some milk, then maybe my mouth will stop being on fire.”

Cozner rolled his eyes and got up. “Why don’t I make you a bowl of cereal instead?”

“Oh my God,” Jake whispered in breathless wonder as soon as his back was turned, “is this what it’s like to have two dads?”

***

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Jake said when they were alone in the basement – Cozner was out on his walk with Cheddar. “Why him? I mean, they clearly sent the Vulture because they know we hate him and he’s the worst, but why Cozner? He doesn’t seem super-evil, just, I don’t know, regular golf-cop evil maybe?”

Raymond glanced up from his book. Peralta lay on his mattress, hands behind his head, and gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

“He ran against me for commissioner,” he said.

“Really, woah, I did not know that! Did he win? No, wait, I know _that_. He did not win, John Kelly did. So what happened there?”

What happened indeed? Raymond found himself somewhat at a loss. He trusted Jake, but he could not disclose exactly what had transpired between him and Cozner because it would expose the other captain’s secret.

“He withdrew from the race fairly early on. I’m assuming Kelly sent him hoping there would be some resentment between us. Or at least residual awkwardness. However, that is not the case. My feelings toward him are perfectly neutral.”

Peralta was frowning at him and Raymond realized that his voice had been at least 5% louder than it had any right to be.

“This conversation has come to its natural and mutually satisfying conclusion,” he announced with all the grace and subtlety of a teenager caught hiding an antiques catalogue and a bottle of Musigny Grand Cru under his bed.

“What?” Peralta asked, his frown deepening.

“This conversation has come to its natural and mutually satisfying conclusion,” Raymond repeated, holding up his book to hide his face.

***

It had been a week when Raymond caught himself in the bathroom, about to step out with the two top buttons on his navy polo shirt undone. “Raymond Holt, you brazen hussy,” he hissed at his own reflection. _Why not just drop your trousers and bend over in front of the man while you’re at it?_

He could not deny that he had been flirting openly, shamelessly, even in front of Peralta!, with Captain Kevin Cozner. Why, just the previous night at dinner he had said, “Would you pass me the pepper, please?” – first of all, adding more pepper to a perfectly fine omelet! What was he trying to prove? That he was a ʻbad boyʼ, radiating dangerous sexual energy? – but no, then, when Cozner passed him the pepper, his fingertips had actually brushed Cozner’s.

The thought alone, of this fleeting touch, Raymond knew it had the power to undo him.

The problem was, he wanted nothing more than to be undone by it.

It was lust, he told himself, pure and simple.

There was nothing else to it, certainly no deeper feeling.

He squared his shoulders and buttoned up his polo shirt to face another day.

***

The day Cozner handed him the burner phone was like the best day of his life – well okay, no, because the best day had been actually marrying Amy, but it did come close, feelings-wise.

“Here is the number of the phone in Sergeant Santiago’s possession,” Cozner said, and Jake practically tore the scrap of paper out of his hand.

“Sorry, sorry, I just miss her so much!”

“Yes, you have literally been moaning her name in your sleep, Detective. It is safe to say we all know how much you miss her.”

Jake wasn’t really listening, he was already punching in the numbers, until Cozner cleared his throat.

“Would you perhaps like to go somewhere more private?”

“Oh… yeah, good, idea, okay, I’ll do that!”

***

Jake lay on the ground in the upstairs bedroom, shielded from the single window by the bed and pressed the burner phone to his ear. His heart seemed to be beating three times faster than the ringing tone.

 _Amy,_ he thought, _Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy._

“Yes?” When her voice reached his ear, Jake almost squealed. At the last second, he managed to turn it into at least a semi-dignified squeak.

“Ames?”

“Jake!”

“Are you okay? You’re safe, right?”

“Yes, I’m fine! I’m better than fine, actually! Can you believe that I’m living in an apartment with the Honorable Laverne Holt?! How amazing is that?”

Jake smiled, remembering how jealous Amy had been during the entire safe house operation. “Super amazing, babe!”

“I’ve learned so much about her, Jake! I mean, I rewrote her Wikipedia article completely!”

Jake frowned, wondering what kind of supportive husband tone this called for: _oh no, you had to do so much work_ tone or _what a fun opportunity_ tone? Knowing how Amy felt about homework, he opted for the latter. “That’s…great?”

“It’s so great!” Amy gushed, then her voice dimmed a little and she spoke faster. “Although, there was that weird moment when I said something that kind of made it sound like I wanted to slice off her skin and wear it like a suit, but we cleared that up!”

“Oh, good!” Jake leaned his head against the side of the bed, losing himself in talking to Amy, “You know, fun fact about skinsuits, people always think it’s easier to sew the skin into a suit after washing all the blood and organ juice off it and drying it, but it’s actually more brittle that way. The fresher the skin, the smoother the sewing!”

“Okay, I guess, I’ll keep that in mind? Babe, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, no, that was…weird… Geez, I think I actually learned some stuff from Caleb. Well, that’s disturbing. But yeah, I’m fine. Finer now that I can talk to you. How are Rosa and the squad?”

Amy gasped. “Oh my God, I have to tell you this! Rosa has a Snoopy on Ice poster in her bathroom and I found a pamphlet from a French school for professional mimes!”

“What? Who even is she?”

“I have no idea!” Amy exclaimed before becoming more serious. “Anyway, everyone is okay, but we all miss you and they’re not letting us work the case. The Vulture is acting like he’s in charge, but really the FBI is not giving him anything either.”

“God, I’m so sorry you have to deal with that guy.”

“It’s okay. How is Captain Holt doing?”

Jake sighed, not quite sure how to answer. Things had been… weird lately. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was off.

“Fine, I guess,” he said. “But whenever I bring up working the case, he’s against it. He won’t even listen. Not that there’s a lot we can do from here anyway. It just annoys me so much that we let Murphy get away that time!”

“I get it, but it wasn’t your fault, Jake.”

“Well, it kind of was, though. I should have listened to the captain.”

“Babe, stop. Things went badly. Holt and his mom were never on the same page.”

“Yeah, they were in completely different books,” Jake sighed. “And Holt’s was definitely a user manual for medieval torture devices.”

“How are things with Captain Cozner?” Amy asked. Before he had time to reply she added, “I googled him. His record is impressive.”

“He’s okay. I mean when they said the Vulture and his partner were going to be our security detail, I expected the worst, aka the Vulture, but Cozner’s… I don’t know? Almost nice? Super by the book, pretty OCD about cleaning the bathroom, no sense of humor. He might be the most boring person on the planet. Sometimes I wake up at night and he and Holt are just whispering about boring music, boring books and even boring booze. They can make booze boring, Ames.” There was something about that, Jake began to think, like when had he ever heard Holt just talk about random stuff with someone for what seemed to have been literal hours? But he didn’t really care about that now, not with his wife on the phone.

“I miss you so much,” he said. “Maybe you could visit?”

“You think they’d let us do that?”

“I’m definitely going to start begging Cozner the moment we get off the phone,” Jake promised.

***

“Do you think it was wise to arrange this?” Raymond asked, keeping his voice neutral.

It was dark. They were in the basement. They were alone.

Peralta was upstairs ʻcamping outʼ on the floor in the bedroom with Santiago, who had been brought by Captain Pembroke thirty minutes earlier.

Cozner sighed softly.

“We don’t know how much longer this assignment will be. A weekly visit seems humane.”

“It is a security risk. Santiago might have been followed.”

“Yes, you have made this point before, Captain. We are all aware of the danger.”

“I’m merely surprised,” Raymond whispered – out of habit, there was no need to whisper now, he realized. The only one in the room with them was Cheddar, who had already curled up and gone to sleep.

“Surprised?” asked Cozner.

“That you are such a romantic, Captain.” The moment the words slipped out of his mouth Raymond knew he should have bitten his tongue. There was silence.

Then, soft as a breath,

“Perhaps I am.”

Raymond’s skin prickled. He found his mind wandering to the previous nights. The things he had learned about Kevin Cozner – _As a teenager, I would use a torch to read Les Fleurs du Mal under the covers_ – and the things he had not dared to ask. He feared blunt questions would reveal how much of this had been in his head. 

Though, he had seen the photos, had he not? That part was undeniable.

“Either way,” Cozner said, “in addition to the sergeant, I had Pembroke deliver this.” There was some rustling, then, suddenly the space between them was illuminated by the faint blue light of a display.

Startled, Raymond met Cozner’s eyes.

“It is a portable compact disk player – Pembroke made a point of telling me how out of date such devices are. You said you were sorry you missed the Mahler concert a few months ago. I have a few recordings here, I thought we might listen to them.” Cozner grimaced apologetically. “It might also prevent us from overhearing… other things.”

“Oh,” Raymond said. He was more than a little unwilling to acknowledge ʻother thingsʼ but found himself touched by the gesture.

“Unless you mind sharing headphones? We won’t have to get much closer than we already are.”

“I do not mind.”

“May I propose we listen to symphony no. 5 by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Leonard Bernstein?”

“I would like that.” Raymond closed his eyes as he put the earbud into his ear. There was slight tension in the cord, transmitting each and every one of Cozner’s small movements. They were connected now, a strange, almost exhilarating feeling.

Cozner inserted the compact disc and pressed a few buttons. The familiar invigorating first notes of the Trauermarsch began to play.

This was different from before. With the music and the silence between them, the proximity was somehow even more palpable to Raymond. When he opened his eyes, there was Cozner, visible now, albeit doused in faint blue light.

The music thrummed through his veins like a second heartbeat, full of urgency and sadness.

Raymond would sneak glances at the other man. Cozner’s eyes were closed, a shy smile was playing around his lips, the gentlest expression Raymond had ever seen. Carried by the music, it was easy to drift. Time slipped away among the notes. There was _Stürmisch bewegt, mit größter Vehemenz_ , which spoke to him of thunderous passion, S _cherzo_ , sweet playfulness and finally _Adagietto_ , calm acceptance.

Raymond opened his eyes and found Cozner looking at him. Perhaps mournful, perhaps yearning.

Perhaps his eyes had been open, watching through passion and playfulness, perhaps he had been waiting for this.

Perhaps, he truly was a romantic.

They drew in the same breath.

Raymond reached out and covered Cozner’s hand with his. It was exhilarating to make this move, to feel the warmth of Cozner’s bare skin under his palm, to meet his eyes and hear the music swell with expectation.

“J'étalerai mes baisers sans remord/Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre,” whispered Cozner.

And Raymond had no choice but to take him up on his promise.

***

“I want to get married again,” Raymond said against Kevin’s lips, his body humming with desire as he slid one hand down the length of Kevin’s back down to his hip.

There was a beat, then quietly, a dusting of wry humor masking the brittle edge to his voice, “That seems like rushing things a bit, don’t you think? We’ve only just kissed.”

Kevin was a warm weight on top of him, but now he planted a hand at the center of Raymond’s chest, pushing slightly, and Raymond was reminded, painfully, of the light driving him away.

“Hm.” There was an opening, a loophole for him to take what he wanted – he could not deny that he wanted it – and yet Raymond Holt was not a man of loopholes. “What I mean to say is: I am looking for a committed relationship with a man I can take to restaurants, to concerts, who will live with me, whom I can introduce to my family, my friends and” he guessed this was the most contentious point “my colleagues.”

He could feel Kevin tense under his hands, his body going rigid.

“Why?” he asked. “What do they have to do with anything? Can’t this be between us? Is that not enough?”

The defensiveness was unsurprising, yet still disappointing.

“I will not go back into the closet, Kevin—”

“I am not asking you to.”

“Are you not asking me to hide and sneak around and be” _Oh, how banal a phrase!_ “your dirty little secret?”

Kevin rolled off him abruptly, causing Cheddar to whuff softly as they collided in the dark. This was the very reaction Raymond had dreaded.

“No, Raymond,” he said, and he had no right to sound as hurt as he did, Raymond told himself, “I’m not. I am not asking anything of you.”

Then there was silence, punctuated by the noise of Cozner fiddling with his compact disk player. Raymond lay on his back, simmering in frustration.

After a few moments, he heard the faint melody of _Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen._ This time, Cozner did not offer to share headphones.

***

The next two days were torture. Kevin felt tired and drained. He dragged himself out with Cheddar, listened to Peralta’s inane babbling and endured the silences from Holt. At all hours, Holt seemed to be hiding behind something, a book, a newspaper, even a _magazine_.

He played chess with _Peralta_. Kevin had to actively bite his tongue to keep himself from asking whether a round of the sock smelling game was scheduled next.

Cheddar, sensing his grief – though grief was a strong word, it implied loss when there had been no loss, for one could not lose what one never had – stuck even closer to him than usual and to Kevin’s secret delight snubbed both Peralta and Holt.

The nights were now bristling with frosty silence. Except for one memorable, entirely unwelcome exception when Holt had whispered a tortured _why?_ at him.

Kevin ignored him, thinking, _You wouldn’t understand._ Which was a cliché and a mind-numbingly boring one at that.

***

It was on the third day after Mahler that Kevin spotted a van parked across the street from the house. The van was grey and had the logo and phone number of a plumbing service on its side.

Kevin checked his watch. 0723, early for plumbing services. Peering through the half-open blinds, he jotted down the plate numbers. A man was in the driver’s seat, a dark baseball hat pulled down far enough to obscure his face.

Kevin had been about to take Cheddar outside. _Interesting timing,_ he thought. He drew his gun from his shoulder holster and routinely checked the magazine clip. Then he ducked past the windows out of the kitchen and toward the basement door. He needed to warn Peralta and Holt first.

Luckily, Peralta was upstairs, still half-asleep, stumbling to the bathroom. The moment he saw Kevin, he jerked fully awake.

“There is a suspicious van parked across the street, radio for backup. Tell them to run these plates.” He pressed the scrap of paper into Peralta’s hand. “I’ve seen only the driver. You and Holt stay in the basement. I will go outside through the living-room window and investigate.”

“Got it.”

***

When Jake darted down the stairs and lunged for the radio, the captain dropped his book.

“Suspicious van outside. I’m calling for backup. Cozner’s going through the window to get the drop on them. He’s seen one, there might be more.”

Holt picked up his revolver and badge and headed for the stairs.

“We’re supposed to stay down here,” Jake said, “but we’re not going to, right?”

“No,” Holt said, “we are not.”

***

The sky was overcast but it was light outside. Kevin crept along the back wall of the house, his shoulder scraping the cold stone. He was alone; he’d told Cheddar to stay inside by the window and keep watch.

In moments like these, Kevin felt the thrill of reckless abandon. He thought of Achilles fighting in the Trojan war, of his hands on the cold shaft of his spear, warmed only by the blood of his enemies dripping down its length.

Kevin Cozner was no hero, he knew that, but he felt free of fear, untethered from a world to which he did not quite belong.

He peered around the corner and instantly spotted the driver because he had left the van and was approaching the house, his right hand slipping under his bulky jacket.

That was all Kevin needed to see, really.

He stepped around the corner, gun trained on the other man’s chest.

“NYPD, hands where I can see them.”

The driver looked up at him, not moving, his hand still under the jacket.

“Slowly raise your hands,” Kevin ordered, taking a few steps toward the man. “Now.”

Suddenly, there was a loud _thump_ behind him, the sound of one body hitting another and Kevin made the mistake of turning to see what was going on.

That was when the front door flew open and Raymond Holt stepped outside, the grey morning light glinting off his revolver. It was pointing at the man in front of him, who, Kevin now realized, had, while he was distracted, drawn a gun on him.

“Drop your weapon, punk,” barked Holt.

Behind Kevin, Peralta had wrestled another perp to the ground. A growling Cheddar had planted himself between the man and his gun – equipped with a silencer – which was lying in the grass. He’d snuck up on Kevin from behind, planning to put a bullet into the back of his skull.

Realizing that it was over, the driver in front of Kevin clenched his jaw and let his gun drop onto the lawn. Raymond strode past and pushed the perp down into the grass, cuffing him.

Kevin blinked, breathing in the not exactly fresh New York air. He could hear police sirens in the distance.

“I think it’s over,” he said, his heart feeling inexplicably heavy.

Raymond looked up at him, his dark eyes unreadable, and nodded. “It’s over.”

***

“Seamus Murphy was apprehended in Gdynia, Poland yesterday afternoon at 1524 local time. He will be extradited to the USA as soon as possible,” Raymond announced at the 99th precinct’s morning briefing two days later. “The two men we arrested have confessed and are going to testify at his trial.”

“Well done, Jakey, we missed you so much!”

“Thank you, Charles, but I couldn’t have done it without the captains!” Jake grinned and leaned back in his chair.

“Hear, hear,” Sergeant Jeffords interjected.

“Captain Holt,” Peralta continued with his tried and true air of bravado, “give my best to Captain Cozner. The next time you see him, tell him I won’t miss his oatmeal and I won’t miss his soup – ‘cause they were uh-terrible! – but I will miss his dog and I think I’ll kinda miss him too.”

“Thank you, Peralta, but I doubt I will see Captain Cozner anytime soon,” Raymond said, pushing away thoughts of the last time he _had_ seen Kevin – on the dewy lawn the morning of the arrest, his solitary figure standing out among the uniformed officers around him, Raymond’s gaze had clung to him as he grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, while Jake had talked at him ceaselessly as he drove them away.

He hated to admit it, but he missed Kevin.

“Anyway,” Jake said, I tatted your tit… I titted your tat? I’ve forgotten the order. Well, let’s go with the second one because saying I tatted your tit feels super wrong now. There was a man-boob incident. And no one was asking. You know what? Forget that I said anything at all.”

Ignoring Peralta’s antics, Raymond closed the Murphy file.

It was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over!!! But no, there is a third part to this series. We'll see if I'll actually manage to write that one. Comments appreciated, bye!

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really like this stupid verse:/  
> title is from the lyrics of "I will always love you" because of course it is.


End file.
